


New Message

by Turbodrawn



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Canon Compliant, Drunk Richie Tozier, F slur, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, M/M, Mentioned Losers Club (IT), Mild Suicidal Ideation, Moving On, Post-Canon, Repression, Richie Tozier's Internalized Homophobia, Richie tozier actually goes to therapy, eventual mentioned benverly, eventual mentioned hanbrough, im sorry this is mostly angst, it's richie's turn to be brave, its supposed to have a sorta happy ending?, pillsburry cookie dough is actually safe to eat raw, small dissociation episode, sorta reddie, sorta stanpat mentions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25605736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turbodrawn/pseuds/Turbodrawn
Summary: Post finally killing Pennywise, the Losers (or those left of the Losers) return to normal life, but Richie is having a hard time coping after the loss of Eddie. If only he could talk to him again.Leaving a message on his answering machine sorta counts- right?
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 9
Kudos: 14





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> The phone messaging mechanics are a bit skewed in order to write this- please either ignore it or blame it on turtle magic. Also assume Eddie's phone was left in the sewers.
> 
> Sorry this is mostly angst, I'm just an emotional sadomasochist

  
  


4:32 pm, August 21st, 2016 

Richie paced restlessly back and forth in his hotel room, his phone pressed firmly to his ear as he did so. The last time he had been this stressed over a phone call was when Mike had called him back to Derry- and he hoped the trend wasn’t going to continue after this. 

“Goddammit, Eds. Pick up before I lose my nerve...” 

He _needed_ to talk to Eddie before the fight with the damn clown. 

“Pick up pick up pick uuup.....” 

He looked over at his packed bag on the hotel bed as the dial tone ended and the automated message started to play, asking Richie to leave his own message at the beep.

“The ONE time you don’t answer your phone and it has to be now!” This is what Richie got for taking the many times in which he could easily get Eddie’s attention for granted. 

He supposed Eddie was still off trying to find his item for the ritual- Richie’s hand snaked into his jacket pocket to feel his own token as he thought about it- but that wasn’t a good enough excuse for him.

Beep (beep).

“Yo. Eddie, we need to talk man.” He started, a jittery confidence in his voice that quickly died out as he considered what he would say next.

“I was... remembering some things. From when we were kids.” His throat grew dry as his mind went back to that day at the arcade- his fingers curled tightly around the coin in his pocket reflexively. “And I, uh... wanted to talk to you and see if- you...” 

Richie could clearly remember for the second time that day, the way everyone had looked at him in that arcade the minute Bowers began to yell at him. Just staring. Their disgusted and hateful eyes all on him. He liked attention, but not this kind. Anxiety, shame, and even anger filled his system.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck._

“... Remember feeling the same way... and if you feel like that still?” The inflection of the question resembled that of a man that was about to be beat if he asked the wrong thing.

Richie wanted to curl into a ball and die.

He had already fucked it up. And he still didn’t have the guts to say it straight over the phone in a voicemail. The wait to hear back would kill him. And who the hell knows who else would hear it.

“Fuck! Just call me back the minute you can.” He yelled a bit too eagerly into the speaker of the phone and ended the message abruptly. 

A strained and frustrated noise emanated from him as he stood there, his face buried his hands and ears bright red, thinking about what an absolute mess he was. He was too disorganized for Eddie, he knew it. Richie hoped- but also fucking dreaded- that Eddie would call back. That he would rant at him over his vagueness and unnecessary yelling but ultimately agree to meet. He wasn’t ready to confess how he felt to Eddie, though he felt he likely would never be. The rest of them would certainly die within the next 24 hours, so now seemed like the time- and yet, Eddie couldn’t be reached. 

Finding the prospect of waiting for Eddie to return the call too much and the fact that his window to run away and go back to his normal life closing, Richie grabbed his duffle bag and few other belongings and booked it to his car.

* * *

9:14 am, August 22nd, 2016

Richie’s throat was raw and stripped of most of his ability to talk from screaming Eddie’s name all yesterday. His eyes were rimmed in a sore redness from the tears and sobs that wracked his body every time he was able to cry again. His hand- now cleaned of the grime and blood, Eddie’s blood- shook as he picked up his phone from the dingy hotel bed he sat on and dialed a number that he’d learned just recently but dialing it felt as natural as he’d been doing it for years.

Putting it up to his ear as the dial tone rang through the speakers, new streams of tears ran from his puffy eyes and down his face. The blues of his irises standing in stark contrast to the redness of the whites of his eyes. God, his head fucking hurt.

He inhaled shakily as the automated message played, telling Richie that [Edward Kaspbrak] would get back to him soon.

Of course, Richie knew he wouldn’t be getting back to him soon. He wouldn’t ever.

The recording tone beeped in his ear- a shrill noise against the silence of his room. He attempted to talk, croaking out the first few words, “Hey, Eds...” he choked back another full-body sob but let the tears continue to fall down his face.

“This is about yesterday’s voicemail...” he curled into himself, his whole body shaking as he still stifled his crying. “I know you didn’t see it, and because of that I didn’t get to tell you...” he sniffed loudly and continued on, shakily, only for his words to die out into a sob “and now I can’t tell you... in person... fuck...” It was all getting to be too much. 

The fact that he had finally found Eddie again. And now he was gone.

He composed himself with short intakes of breath, “but, I loved you, Eddie... God, I still do.” The tears were running down his face even hotter and faster now, pouring from his eyes that were squeezed shut. This had been the first time he had admitted it out loud, and the first time to even himself. Years of affection he had outpoured for Eddie as kids that had built him up to this moment, yet it still placed an uneasiness in his stomach. 

Before admitting it, he could deny everything. He could deny he ever had feelings for Eddie. He could deny that he liked a boy. He could deny that he was gay. Deny it to everyone and deny it to himself. If he denied it, then he wasn’t like that. He wasn’t gay. But now that he had said it- it was true. He had feelings for Eddie, he had feelings for another boy (a man now), and he _was_ gay. And now, for better or for worse, he accepted it. If there was anything that came out of Eddie’s death, it would be that. 

“And I always have” more sniffling ensued as he continued. “I may have forgotten about you after we all left Derry as kids, but I didn’t forget how you made me feel.” Richie’s tone began to become more even as he talked further, but even more somber. 

“There was something missing that I wasn’t able to find after leaving Derry and forgetting. Nothing ever seemed to fix it, no matter how hard I tried.” he sniffed again, rubbing away some of his hot tears. The years of alcohol, trying the odd drug, and fooling around every so often could attest to the failures. “But when Mike went and called us and we all showed up at the Orient... The minute I saw you... God- I remembered.” The stupidly neat hair. The nervous, borderline, neurotic energy. The big, sad, brown eyes. There was an imprint of those features exactly, made by only one person on Richie’s heart and he had found him again.

“ I couldn’t remember everything we had done or experienced but I could remember how it made me feel. I remembered how fucking much I loved you and how fucking much I wanted you to love me...” His chest heaved as he took a large shuddering sigh, “But there’s that emptiness again and I don’t know what to do...

“I miss you, Eddie.” his voice cracked as he fell back into a fit of sobs.

Unable to keep his train of thought through the tears, he pressed the end button on the screen, presumably ending the message. He wasn’t even sure if the whole thing was captured, but it was close enough. He just had to say it.

Richie fell over onto his side on the bed and continued to let the tears and sobs flow through his body in choking spasms, stopping only when he had cried himself into an exhausted and restless sleep.

* * *

2:49 pm, August 24th, 2016

Richie sat on the side of the road in his parked red convertible, his hands gripped tightly around the leather steering wheel as he blankly stared ahead with teary eyes. 

All the others had left Derry already, even if Eddie had died there, they wanted to be far away from the town before they proceeded with their own mourning. Mike was the first, saying something about how he had spent enough of his life there to wait even one more second- but Richie had hung back for an extra day. He had been too much of a mess to drive even somewhat coherently and needed time to sort the issues of luggage. 

Knowing that he’d be the one to find the most comfort out of the items Eddie had left behind in his hotel room (and how Eddie would have likely given his stuff to Richie, despite how much he would claim otherwise), the other Losers had left Richie to do with it as he pleased- save for maybe a few items some of the others wanted to keep in remembrance. What he was able to fit from Eddie’s massive amount of luggage was stacked in somewhat organized piles in the backseat of Richie’s car. Much of it was clothing, Richie having made sure to grab each sweatshirt or jacket especially, many of them still in freshly ironed and neatly folded condition. He wore one of the jackets even now- a grey zip-up hoodie with white drawstrings, not unsimilar to the heather one Eddie had been wearing when they went down into the sewers. 

Leave it to Eddie to have two of the same type of jacket. 

It fit Richie relatively okay, the sleeves and waist were a little short when he extended his arms but it worked all the same. The true importance he found about it was that it was Eddie’s. It still even had the faint smell of him.

He ran a hand through his hair as he took a few shaky breaths, trying to restrain from more tears. He had been crying for what had seemed like most of the damn day, having close to two or three fits just sorting through Eddie’s luggage earlier.

He picked up his phone that he had haphazardly tossed onto the passenger seat and checked the time- not that it mattered- and continued to stare at it, the meaningless beach scene wallpaper glowing back at him. He wished he would have gotten a picture of all of them (save for Stan the Man, sadly) when they had gotten back together so he’d have something better than this shitty background. Richie pushed up his glasses and rubbed his eyes as he dialed the number. 

Dial tone. Automated message. Beep (beep).

“Hey Eddie, it’s me again” he sighed, letting his glasses fall back down to their normal position and opening his eyes again. “I got your stuff from the hotel- well- most of it. Mostly clothes.” He laughed a bit to himself as he continued to talk into the phone, “you know, you pack _a lot_ of stuff- and not just in your pants.” Upon registering what had slipped out of his mouth, Richie facepalmed and let out a groan of disgust, exasperated at his own impulsive joke.

Taking a moment to gather himself, he continued his train of thought as he glanced down at the cup holder beside him where his Swiss army knife sat. “I recarved our initials into the Kissing Bridge today too. The first time I did it was that summer.” He looked through the passenger side window to see the carvings on the bridge, prominent and fresh and smiled sadly. “I know we weren’t _together_ but, it was stupid puppy love you know? ... and I’d like to think that if I asked you... we would of.”

Tears were welling up in his eyes and beginning to fall, but the smile still stayed. 

“Goddammit.” he let out something like a chuckle and wiped away some of the tears with his sleeve. “You’re making me cry way too fucking much, Eds.” He was an emotional man, sure, but the mass amount he felt now seemed unfair. He paused and sighed, “I’m probably gonna have to end this here ‘cause I’m already going to get to the motel I’m staying at like midnight.” Richie ran his hand through his hair again- he thought it might be a nervous tic that he was starting to pick up. “I miss you, man. I know I’ve been saying that, but I do. So much.”

With a heavy sigh, he hung up. Tossing his phone back to its position on the passenger seat- not really in the mood for music. Richie turned the keys in the ignition, the few keychains on it jingling as he did, and the red car revved to life. He took one last look at the carvings on the bridge- blinking away the tears in his eyes- and pulled out from where it was parked. 

He continued to drive on well into the night, in silence.

* * *

8:16 pm, August 25th, 2016

Richie picked up his phone once again, dialing the same number as he had been previously. There was a messy slur to his voice this time as he spoke. 

“Heeyyy Spaghetti...” he paused to take a shot of whiskey. “I’m in...” he trailed off again, only to continue a few seconds later after thinking to himself, “... fuck, I don’t know, I’m in like, Ohio now and I swear, there’s nothing fucking here. Just trees.” He laughed to himself at the prospect of a state being literally only inhabited by forests- which really wasn’t that funny in hindsight.

“Anyways... I think everyone else is back where they want to be. I heard Bill is doing another book- not sure if the ending will be good this time.” Richie fell into a quick fit of snorts and giggles at the jab against Bill. He was feeling particularly ornery that night and the alcohol was no help. ”Mike is off somewhere in the sauna they call Florida- don’t really know why he’d want to go there for, though. It’s just Disney World and half-alive, face-eating men. Bev and Ben are together, I think, livin’ it up on a boat somewhere- it sounds like they’re really happy...” he slurred the last part of the sentence, a semblance of bitterness crept into Richie’s voice as he brought up the two. “Out there being together...” The bitterness mixed with the love he could not hide for his friends but, God, it was unfair. It was unfair that Bev and Ben got to live happily ever after together and Richie didn’t. He lost the love of his life and was forced to leave him under that town to rot. It wasn’t fucking fair.

His head buzzed as he took another shot, downing it with a grimace. All the unintentional jealousy and anger that he felt, magnified by the whiskey. “Everyone keeps trying to text or call me but it’s only ever ‘how are you doing Rich?’, ‘how are you feeling?’, ‘maybe you should talk to a professional’. And like, I don’t want to talk! I just want to wallow, okay? I want to be fucking sad! Why can’t I just be fucking sad?!” Hot, stinging tears that he had grown quite familiar with fell from his eyes as he ranted into the phone, his volume attracting the odd worried or uncomfortable stare. “And they’re ones to talk, you know? They were the ones who screamed at me to let you go, they were the ones who drug me out and made me leave you, and yet they’re not the ones who lost you- I was!” He punctuated this by beating the palm of his hand repeatedly into his chest. Maybe the harder he hit, the more it would be true. He was the one affected the most by it. He had the right to be angry. Right?

The tears fell even faster now as he continued. 

“They’re the reason you died alone! I would have stayed if they let me, Eddie! I would have stayed! You didn’t deserve to be left there but they made me...” Richie’s voice fell in volume, his crying becoming borderline sobs, now that caught in his throat. A trail of snot dripped from his nose as his head hung low between his arms that rested atop the bar counter as he still talked. 

The entire scene had caught the attention of one of the bartenders, who was now deciding if it’d be in her best interest to kick Rich out. She wasn’t sure what had caused his hysterics but if it was to get any worse, it would become a public disturbance that she did not need on her shift.

Richie curled into himself, covering his head in a tangle of his own arms as he rested his face on the bar counter. His red and blotchy face may have been covered but the hitching breaths he took gave away his sniffling and tears. He still continued to speak, his voice gravelly and strained. “Then again, it was my fault you died... if it wasn’t for me looking at the Deadlights like a fuckin’ idiot, you wouldn’t have had to save me. I- I-” he started to hiccup, “I was the reason you died...” His words wavered violently as they left his throat but they continued to spill out. “It should have been me, Eddie. It should have been me who died. Not you. You should have let me die. Why couldn’t you have just let me die instead of you?” 

Richie had removed his head from the counter, now looking down at the ground, his hand covering his mouth firmly as his whole body shook with aggressive, painful sobs. He had his eyes squeezed shut so tensely that one would fear something in his face would snap, yet it still couldn’t prevent the stream of tears from rolling down his face and onto his pants and the floorboards. He sat there like that- for what seemed like ages to those who watched him. His white-knuckled hand still over his mouth, attempting to stifle his cries, phone held up to his ear by the other hand. 

There were dozens of eyes on him now, all gawking at the sobbing drunk that looked quite like that one raunchy comedian from the television. But it couldn’t be him. A person like that wouldn’t be in a bar in the middle of nowhere, crying hysterically and balls deep into a bottle of whiskey. 

Having deemed him officially a disturbance, the bartender cautiously approached Richie. She stood in front of him for at least a minute and a half, unnoticed by him, finally getting his attention with an awkward clearing of her throat.

Rich opened his eyes upon hearing her and hung up his phone. The blue of his eyes stood starkly against their redness and it frankly caused the bartender even more discomfort. The amount of pain in his eyes was beyond palpable as he looked up at her with a quiet “wha-“.

She had heard only parts of his message and understood even less of it, but she knew in her gut it was about something devastating. The level of guilt she felt at having to remove him from the bar was starting to grow as she stood there, looking at him like the rest of the bar patrons. He absolutely did not need any more drinks but he seemed in desperate need of someone.

“I’m sorry sir,” she started off, a concerned but wide-eyed look on her face like she had no clue what to do with the 40-something-year-old drunk man that sat in front of her. Rich just looked back at her through his now, admittedly smudged glasses, occasionally his breath hitching or sniffling. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

There was an apologetic tone to her voice as she continued, her composure breaking a little. Richie continued to stare at her blankly.

“I’m so sorry, it’s just that you have been causing a disturbance and I’m advised to remove sources of that. But I see you’re having a hard time and I feel bad for asking you and I’m sorry but I just need you-“

Richie cut off her continuing semi-apologies and requests, a weary smile on his lips for he realized the amount of disruption he imposed. “‘t’s all good. I understand.” He sniffed.

He got up from the barstool, swaying a bit, shoved his phone into his pocket and pulled his wallet out of a different one. 

“How much do I owe you?”

“Uh,“ the bartender took a glance at his tab, “73.95.” She was a bit taken aback by how easily he was cooperating.

“Teaches me to pick something other than the shit stuff, I suppose.” He leafed through a few bills and pulled out a hundred and handed it to her. “Rest’s for you. For the trouble I’ve caused you tonight.” He rubbed away some of the drying tears on his cheek and under his eyes with his sleeve as she took the bill and check it’s validity.

He turned and began to head towards the exit, stumbling a little as he walked. The bartender called after him as she watched him make his way out.

“Please, get a ride home! Don’t try to drive!” She paused, quickly thinking to herself. “And I’m sorry for whatever has happened!”

Stopping to glance back at her, Rich offered her a forced smile that many comedians seemed to have mastered (but he had never seemed to perfect) and shot her with some finger guns, “This ain’t my first rodeo, I’m already getting an Uber.” He continued to walk towards the exit again, only to stop in the doorway to give her a sad, but genuine smile this time, “And thanks. It means a lot.”

***

Richie sat outside on the sidewalk as he waited for his ride. His breath hung in the air as the remaining tears on his face dried and he stared at the night sky.

He really wished he had a cigarette right now.

* * *

5:57 pm, September 6th, 2016

It had been a long day of doing absolutely jack-shit, just like the day before that and the day before that. Richie was on what one could call “a vacation”- or at least that’s what his agent had called it. In reality, it was Richie waiting to feel a semblance of anything other than sorrow or gnawing emptiness.

He had been back in Chicago for almost a week now, but he had still yet to settle everything back into its place. His duffel bag still sat with all its contents in the corner of his bedroom; Eddie’s things were placed neatly on top of the dresser- Rich hadn’t the energy or emotional stamina to do anything with either of them so there they stayed. 

Somehow, despite the many nights he had slept in that apartment, the place felt almost foreign to him- just like Derry had when he returned. There was a ghost of what it had been to him imprinted in his mind, but that’s all there was at the moment. Only once he began to “live” again, would the familiarity come back.

Nothing felt like home to him anymore.

Then again, he wasn’t sure anything ever had. Besides his friends. Besides Eddie.

Richie sat on the sleek, brown sofa that sat in the middle of the main room, the upholstery creaking as he leaned back into it. He had yet to do anything other than nap, drink, or stare off blankly, and yet, he was still utterly fucking exhausted. He let his head loll back onto the headrest and looked out towards the Chicago skyline as it was bathed in the colors of the sunset. The colors crept into the apartment through the sliding glass doors that he stared out of, their warmth seeping into the room but failing to reach Richie, whose body was filled with anything but warmth.

He sat there, staring. The few thoughts he had the energy for, buzzing lazily in his head.

He’d have to call his agent soon. 

It was the last thing he wanted to do, but if Richie wanted to keep him as his agent he'd have to call and explain his radio silence. He was already on thin ice for flopping _hard_ on his last show, leaving unexpectedly, and canceling the upcoming ones he had lined up. If he fucked up anymore, he might be in some deep shit he didn’t have the capacity to deal with himself.

It could probably wait for at least one more night though. He’d rather call other people. 

Richie fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed the number.

Beep (Beep).

His voice was weary and slow. “Hey, Eddie. Just callin’ to give an update. I’ve been back in Chicago for a little bit now. Still haven’t gotten back to doing shows though.” Richie traced the faint patterns in the ceiling with his eyes, but with very little focus as he talked. “It’d be too much. I’m already having a hard time doing anything other than sleep or stare at the wall. I’ve turned into a certified vegetable.” He let out a short chuckle. The humor, however, did not reach his face, his deadpan expression still remaining there. “But I’ve been sleeping a lot- at least when I don’t have nightmares... but usually bourbon will help deal with it. At least enough for me to knock out for a few hours- or several. I know you’d already be lecturing me about how bad that is for my liver and body in general if you were here right now, but at this point, I’m just trying to survive.” Memories of Eddie giving him the what-for in a variety of situations where Richie had made or was _actively_ making a decidedly bad decision came to mind.

However pedantic and obsessive he was, Eddie was always looking out for him, even till the end.

“Sorry, Eds.”

He shifted his weight on the couch, the upholstery groaning in protest.

“You wanna know what’s messed up? The fact that there are some days I’ll wake up and forget everything that happened in the sewers for a hot second. Like, I’ll wake up thinking we still have to go and kill that stupid clown and that you’re still alive and everything is semi-okay. It’s borderline cruel sometimes.” He gave another humorless chuckle that morphed into a weary sigh.“And I’ve been thinking about talking to the others more, again. I sorta pushed them away after everything because I was just in so much denial and pain. They lost you too and it was selfish of me to ignore that... “ Richie rubbed his tired eyes from under his glasses absentmindedly. “And I think I’m ready to admit that- at least somewhat- and talk more openly again. I’m not sure I’ll be the happiest about it at first, but it’d probably be good for me.”

The words from Stan’s letter rung true.

“ _We Losers gotta stick together”_ and all that.

Oh, how he missed his friends- living ones and not. 

“I think I’m going to call this one here, Eds. I have some things I need to make right.” He lingered with the phone still up to his ear. “Love you, dude, and I miss you.” 

He ended the message and sat there, staring at his contact list. Scrolling up through the various names (many of them related to shows and P.R.), he finally found the name he was looking for. Rich ran his hand through his disheveled hair and let out a tense breath. He jammed his thumb on the call button. Time to rip off the bandaid- the one of many he’d have to do. A one on one phone call just felt easier.

The phone rang a few times before it was answered, a mild natured and stutter-free voice on the other end. 

“What’s up, Richie?”

“Hey, Bill. I just wanted to apologize... and I just need someone to talk to.”

* * *

Date: 2:31 am, October 4th, 2016

Beep (Beep).

“So, I’ve been talking to the others again.” Richie lay sprawled out on the ground (he truthfully forgot why he was down there, but it felt nice on his back), the television quietly mumbling in the background. “Pretty frequently too, actually. We’ve got a group chat. Imagine if we had that as kids, it probably would have been chaos.” He laughed to himself.

“I am glad that I stopped pushing them away so much. It’s made this sting a little less- I think.” The amused smirk on his face fell into something more somber and contemplative as he drew his phone closer to him like it’d somehow make him closer to Eddie. “We all miss you so much, dude. Like, Bill hasn’t stopped talking about how he wants to dedicate this book Mike and him are working on to both you and Stan. Mike also wants to take us out to this place in California he found while hiking- it’s apparently a great bird-watching spot- and he thinks both you and Stan would have liked it. He suggested we should have a little memorial there. I think Ben is even writing a poem- Bev says it’s beautiful so far but he’s a bit bashful about it. He’s working on his confidence though.

“She and Ben have actually been staying together at the moment ‘cause she’s working on getting a divorce.” Richie scratched his chin thoughtfully, it had been a good while since he fully shaved and it showed. There were flecks of gray throughout his beard; he wondered if Eddie would have liked it or given him hell over it. “Beverly had enough courage to tell us why and it turns out her husband is a huge abusive piece of shit- sorta explains the bruises she had when we all met up at the Chinese place. We’re all trying to support her- at least emotionally- while it all goes down. It’s gonna be hell for her when she tries to get her share of their fashion company.

“What was your marriage like?” He knew it was stupid to ask questions that would never be answered, but it brought him comfort nevertheless. “I’d hope nothing like Bev’s.” 

“Oh, and with Stan-” Richie groaned as he got to his feet, walking stiffly into his bedroom and picking up a letter and picture that lay on his dresser (Eddie’s things that had once sat atop it, now stored safely in their own drawer). “Patty- that’s his wife’s name- sent out letters that he had written to each of us, plus a picture of the two of them.” He looked down at the picture of the (admittedly) very handsome looking couple in his hands as he held his phone in between his ear and the crook of his shoulder, too lazy to rummage for his headphones. Man, Stan had grown up, but he still, somehow, looked exactly the same- even down to the faded scars that outlined the sides of his face. 

“ _Just taller.”_ he said quietly to himself with a smile, remembering Beverly’s words that one summer as kids. It fucking sucked they never got to meet older Stan. And despite the fact that they hadn’t, the memories of Stan as a kid caused a pang of bittersweet melancholy in his stomach.

Remembering that he was talking on the phone, Richie continued on his original train of thought, “Like, dude. He was hot! And so is his wife! Was I the only one who didn’t get the ‘become ridiculously good looking’ memo?” He giggled at his own self-deprecating joke. “Seriously though, I remember seeing everyone for the first time when we met at the Jade of Orient and being like: ‘Shit, they’re hot. Fuck, I’m not’.

“And then there was when I saw you. God, it felt like everything just slammed into me at once. All those memories from when we were kids- laying the hammock together, giving each other hell, talking over the phone late at night- I remembered how good it felt to see you and be near you. To be touching you…” He placed the picture and letter back on the dresser and took his phone back into his hand. “That’s why I was always all over you- and not in a horny way either. Just the contact with you gave me such a high. Sometimes it’d be like a drowsy happiness- a little like smoking a joint? And then sometimes it’d be such a sporadic sense of energy that I couldn’t keep to myself. 

“For a while, I thought nothing of it, but I realized it was something more. 

“I hated that I felt like that for so long. I hated that I was gay and that I loved my best friend. And even when I forgot you, the Losers, Derry, I still remembered that I hated that part of myself. It was my dirty little secret that I tried so hard to hide. I spent _years_ telling those stupid ass jokes that I didn’t even write ‘cause I thought they’d make me sound straight. I even tried sleeping with multiple women- to see if I could ‘fix’ myself, to save face, to strengthen my ‘straight’ alibi- whatever. Then once I realized it was useless, it became a game of fucking guys on the down-low and hoping no one found out.” His eyes drifted over to the alarm clock on the bedside table, he groaned at how late it was getting and rubbed his eyes from under his glasses. If he was going to create any semblance of a sleep routine, this was not the way to do it.

“Now I think I am coming to terms with it? I’m trying to not hate myself- for being gay at least. It took killing a literal cosmic demon, almost dying, remembering Bowers calling me a faggot, and losing you and Stan for me to get to this point, but I’m trying.” Richie’s jaw clenched and unclenched as he fell silent, his left hand picking at the side of his pant leg. “I- I think I’m going to tell them tomorrow. The Losers and Patty. I am pretty sure that none of them will be anything other than supportive but there’s still that fear, ya know? Like, what happens if it gets out? Will people be able to tell once I stop pretending? 

“I’m not ready to tell everyone but I’m tired of hiding things from the others.”

He looked over to his alarm clock again, then drug his hand over his face tiredly, “Ugh, I’m going to regret staying up this late. Wish me luck, Eds. G’night.”


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out this fic is going to be longer than I expected, so here's part 2 of who knows how many

Date: 8:34 pm, October 4th, 2016

Richie tapped through his phone to the call interface and typed in Eddie’s phone number, a giddy smile was spread wide over his face. No matter how much he tried, he likely wouldn’t have been able to suppress it- and you know what? He didn’t want to. He was happy- legitimately happy.

His phone rang through to the answering machine and it gave the familiar message tone.

  
  


Beep (Beep).

“Guess what ended up being way more anticlimactic than I expecteddd!” He drug out the last syllable playfully. “Seriously though, how are you supposed to respond to someone saying stuff like: ‘I assumed’ when you come out as gay? Like- gee thanks! Good to know my acting isn’t nearly as good as I thought it was. Ben literally said ‘I sorta knew already.’ and Mike- the bastard- had the nerve to say that he’d be more surprised if I _was_ straight. He had me pegged as either gay or bisexual but couldn’t figure out which yet.

“Apparently, Mike is pansexual and that sorta helped him develop his hunch about me? Pansexual meaning he finds whoever attractive and their gender doesn’t really play into that attraction,” he scratched his head as he tried to remember the exact words Mike had used as he had briefly explained it. “He shut me down before I could ask if that meant he was into pans or other cookware pretty quickly.” The trill of a giggle slipped from his mouth as he scrunched his nose in amusement at his own joke (yet again). “I hounded him about the fact that if he had told us that while we were all in Derry I would have probably come out a lot fucking sooner, but he didn’t feel like it was the best time for it apparently- considering all the chaos”

Richie wondered if it would have encouraged Eddie to come out. Or come to terms with it at least. There was little doubt in his mind at this point that Eddie was straight- if he was being honest with himself. The way Richie acted and felt around Eddie was definitely not a one-way street, the others could attest to that with an absurd amount of evidence. 

“And of course, I told them about how I have- er- had,” there was that pang of loss again, “feelings for you. Even as a kid. But of course, they weren’t surprised about that either. 

“According to Bev, you don’t look at someone like I did and jump at every opportunity to be close to a person without being absolutely head over heels for them. She caught me there, didn’t she? I was able to get off a good one though because I was like: ‘So... like Ben?’ which got a good laugh out of them all. So I can safely say Trashmouth has still got it, baby, even with being really freaking sad!” He finger-gunned to no one in particular- an action he would likely claim “emphasized” his point. 

“But everyone was really supportive, even past the snarky ‘I knew’ comments- which I probably deserved.” He rolled his eyes as he chuckled to himself. “Patty was so sweet and offered to knit me a rainbow scarf.” He let out a genuinely hardy laugh, something he hadn’t really done since they had met up at the restaurant in Derry- and in Richie time, that was years. “So I guess I’m getting a scarf when I see her next.” 

Richie’s heart swelled with the love he felt for his friends, it felt almost as his chest would burst and it would spill over. “I really couldn’t have asked for more. Like, sorry to get all mushy but we’ve got some really great friends.”

“Back to talking about me though-” He readjusted his position on the couch as he snickered. “I’m considering writing my own material for my stand-up shows actually, especially since I’m tired of telling the same cover-up straight jokes over and over again. Granted, I’ll have to come out publicly first, which is _fucking horrifying_ , but I just have to be brave when I get to that point- follow my own advice for once”. The titter that left his lips fell as the conversation he had had with Eddie underneath the sewers came back to his mind. How he had missed the opportunity to tell him that he loved him. To kiss him. To possibly hear him say ‘I love you’ back… All because he couldn’t live up to his own advice. Now is better than never, though. 

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind like an etch a sketch and go back to what he was talking about. “I’m planning on coming out to my manager and having him possibly help me make it public- unless he doesn’t want me to, then I’m going to Twitter and making some dumbass tweet- then again, I might just do that instead and rip off the band aid. Just tweet that shit and turn off my phone. Let people go nuts while I quietly freak out in the bathtub with a bottle of vodka. Probably will do that, honestly.” He inhaled sharply and let out an elongated exhale as he continued, “Buuuuuut, I have been writing down bit ideas and scripts to show him to see if it’s got potential. If we go through with it I’m not sure if I’ll start off with smaller shows or just go big. I don’t really have the greatest image at the moment because I dropped the ball on my last show when Mike called all of us, and I’m not sure how good my image will be after I come out, but it’s a risk I’m going to have to take.

“Of course I’ll keep you updated on it all. I know you’d be supporting me through this if you were here. Love you, Eddie.” 

* * *

Date: 1:49 pm, October 24th, 2016

Beep (Beep.)

“Hey, Ed’s. I heard a song that made me think of you today. Just wanted to let you know… May have cried in the grocery store parking lot because of it.” Richie gave a weak chuckle. He paused, sniffling as he composed himself- it was blatantly obvious that he had been crying, as he had said, and that he just might start again. “Also got those Pillsbury sugar cookies with those little ghosts on them- so that’s some good news. I’m gonna probably eat the whole box of them raw tonight, honestly. I know you’d probably freak ‘cause of the salmonella risk, but seriously, when has someone gotten anything worse than sick to their stomach from raw cookie dough?” He paused yet again, drumming the fingers of his free hand on his leg. “That’s really all I wanted to tell you,” he sniffled. “Bye, man.” 

* * *

Date: 3:12 am, November 19th, 2016

Richie sat on the sink counter of the bathroom, his phone in hand, and already calling Eddie’s number on speakerphone. He was tense as all hell and his stomach was starting to churn, the heel of his foot banging repeatedly against the cupboard that held up the counter in nervous energy. It switched to let him leave a message and before it could sound the beep he started to talk.

“Guess who’s-”

Beep (Beep).

“-going to come out on Twitterrr..” He extended his last syllable in a fake playfulness in a poor attempt to cover up his nerves, but the quiver of his voice gave it away easily. “My manager- who, by the way, is actually pretty open to letting me write my own material, but I’m not sure if it’s going to stay that way after this- wanted me to come out in a lot more controlled way like an announcement or interview but there is no way am I about to do that and throw up in public again.”

A shaky sigh escaped him as he exited out of the main call interface- the message still recording in the background- and opened up the Twitter app. The banging of his heel against the sink cupboard sped up as he felt his stomach lurch. 

“Fuck- what should I tweet?” His hands- that were both now firmly gripped on each side of his phone- shook as his thumbs hovered over the keyboard. “‘I screw guys exclusively btw’. ‘I’m changing my joke from I fucked your mom to I fucked your dad, actually’. ‘I’m a raging homosexual, just so you all know’.” Richie’s face crinkled as he fought back the pinpricks of frustrated tears. “God, why is this so fucking hard!” He lifted his arm- which now had a massive tremor- and wiped his running nose on his sleeve, his hand returning quickly to the side of his phone, reassuming it’s white-knuckled grip like he was hanging on for dear life. If only Eddie were there with him while he did this- he knew he’d likely still be shaking and on the verge of throwing up, but he’d have that anchor by his side to keep him level. Even if Eddie was able to work himself up over nonsensical health worries and get angry at the drop of a hat, he was always there to be a voice of reason when Richie truly needed it. 

“Screw it.” He quickly typed out ‘so im gay’ and pressed the tweet button.

It hadn’t been more than two minutes before notifications started to sporadically pop up, a violent wave of nausea hit him like a ton of bricks and his blood turning cold with it. He felt whatever he had eaten last- which he couldn’t remember for the life of him at the moment- start to inch its way up. “Oh boy...” he swallowed, trying to suppress it, sweat starting to spring upon his forehead. “I’ll call you later!” Hanging up as he slid off the bathroom counter, Richie haphazardly tossed- almost threw- his phone into the room across the hall. He ran back to the bathroom and barely managed to get his head in the toilet.

Once he completely voided his stomach- and confirmed it with a few dry heaves- he hoisted his head out of the toilet bowl and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Richie grabbed the handle and flushed it as he stood to his feet, swaying back and forth, his head swirled with dizzying thoughts as his eyes followed the water around the bowl and down the pipes. Staggering to the sink, he looked into the mirror to see the stressed and disheveled forty-year-old man looking back at him. 

_He really looked like shit_. 

The phone he had chucked could be heard buzzing from the other room as the notifications and messages still continued to flow in, each buzz causing Richie’s whole body to flinch. A shaky sigh escaped his mouth. Placing his glasses to the side and bending down over the sink, he cupped the stream of water in his hands, allowing it to fill. 

It felt so hard to breathe. He had to focus on rising and falling of his chest just to ensure it happened as he feared if he didn’t it’d stop altogether. 

A foggy memory came to mind of when he and Eddie were kids, when he had begun to show signs of his own panic disorder but hadn’t the words to name it. Eddie had keenly- albeit stressed in his own right- weeded out the possibility of a heart attack and found Richie just needed to breathe. A failed attempt at allowing Richie to borrow his inhaler that resulted in Richie screaming it didn’t help accompanied by him throwing the thing to the dirt later, they sat there, Eddie’s large brown eyes focused on his panicked blue ones as he instructed Richie to breathe with him in unison.

In and out. In and out. In-

 _Is this what Eddie had felt like when he went for his inhaler?_ It wasn’t some non-existent asthma that was cured by a fake prescription but his fears that took his breath away so violently, the fears his mother had so lovingly curated for him that were seemingly only soothed by the reinforcement that the placebos provided. But he had been brave. It may have taken him years to break away from it all but he was well on his way the minute he had thrown the fence post to save Richie.

-and out. 

A shudder shook his body- his body that felt very far from his own right now. Who knew trying to finally be yourself could make you feel so… not. Running his hands- and with them, some of the water- over his face he stared blankly into the basin, his eyes registering nothing but the white ceramic. He let the beads of water run down his pallid skin, trying to think of nothing but thinking of everything instead.

Reaching out beside him, Richie grabbed a hand towel, his fingers running across the textured fabric, making note that he really _felt_ it. He pressed it firmly against his face and stood there in silence. 

Tomorrow will be interesting. But tonight, tonight he was spending in the bathtub with a bottle of vodka, and a bottle of vodka was what he was about to go get.

* * *

Date: 2:13 pm, November 19th, 2016

Richie rubbed his temples, grimacing in discomfort. He really needed to stop drinking (at least so much). The hangovers were making it hard to justify at this point. 

He smacked his lips, a veneer of disgust on his face for the taste of alcohol and vomit still hung stale in his mouth from last night..

It had been around an hour since he finally got up. At some point during his disjointed sleep he had moved himself from the bathtub to his bed- how the hell he managed to do so without breaking something or himself was beyond him- but his neck and back still suffered the consequences of the hours spent in the tub. He’d yet to check his phone since he woke up- and in all actuality, it was likely dead at the moment- but the mere idea of doing so made his headache spike. 

He popped two extra-strength Tylenol into his mouth and swallowed them down with water. Hopefully they’d act fast, his whole body was screaming with some kind of ache at this point.

Sooner or later he was going to have to look at his phone. He couldn’t put it off forever. 

_Fuck._

Pushing away from the kitchen counter he was leaning against, Richie made his way to the room adjacent to the bathroom, his jaw set and his hands restlessly clenching and unclenching. The phone was still there where he had left it. He bent down and scooped it up from the floor, his back cracking in protest. 

_Ow._

Turning it over in his hand and pressing the home button- and notably avoiding all the notifications on his phone screen- he glanced at the battery percentage. 

5%. “Geez.”

The part of him that still lay terrified at the prospect of all of this (that, in all actualities, being close to all of him) tried to reason his way out of the situation. He could “accidentally” let it die and “not be able” to find a charger, thus leaving all this for another day… But Richie knew the anxiety would eat him alive until he saw the responses. 

Moving to his bedroom and plugging the charging cable into his phone, the notifications and messages flashed once again on the screen. There was the familiar feeling of rising bile as his stomach lurched, but there weren’t any contents for it to bring up. Giving a harsh gag and then cupping a hand quickly over his mouth, he willed himself away from having a dry heaving fit. He moaned something along the lines of: “No. Not right now, please...” and dropped his ass onto the edge of his bed. 

You know, the young Richie would have avoided this all. The young Richie that had relentlessly denied how he felt and tried to cover up all the evidence except what he desperately needed to be seen. The young Richie that feared being hated, that feared the slurs and being seen as who he truly was. That feared being everyone’s laughing stock just for being himself. That’s why he always tried to be the funny guy, wasn’t it? It was better when you could make it so they were laughing with you, not at you. Or at least convince yourself it was that way.

But this older Richie was tired of hiding it all. This older Richie had come back to Derry. This older Richie that had fought a killer clown not once, but twice, and lived to see it die. This older Richie that had lost the love of his life and still managed to keep living. He was tired of not being himself, hiding behind his voices and comedic sketches that portrayed him as someone different. He had already made the first step by telling the Losers, and he had already made the giant fucking leap by coming out to the rest of whoever would listen. The hard part was over. He just needed to face the music.

His leg bounced with violent nervous energy as he stared at the dark screen of his phone, the whites of his panicked eyes reflected sharply upon it. Richie unlocked his phone, looking at his texts first. A handful of messages from his friends, Losers and not, congratulating him for coming out publicly- an appreciated sight, but it wasn’t what was on his mind. The other messages were from his manager, likely pissed that Rich had completely gone behind his back and came out on Twitter, even after he was told not to. Richie wasn’t known for being the best at doing what he was told, so what should he have expected? It could definitely wait. Next was the part that scared him- terrified him, more like. Go onto Twitter and face the hoards of replies, quote retweets, messages, and whatever else that he was sure would likely give him hell. 

Taking a deep, shuddering breath ( _in and out_ ), Richie opened the app and swiped until he landed on his tweet. There was a faint trace of the taste of blood as he bit down on the inside of his lip. He scrolled down through the comments, passing by the random-ass meme spams until his blood took a plunge into ice-cold temperatures. _There was what he was worried about._ The comments that reminded him of all the venom fueled hate that was hurled at him or kids like him when he was young. And then there were the ones that may have not started off with slurs or saying he was sick, but still contained that all so obvious disgust. It was that same disgust he had felt towards himself for so many years, what had made him feel as though he was all rotten inside, with maggots spilling out to match. That he was undesirable. A monster. Something that shouldn’t exist or should be fixed.

He knew they were wrong. He had the right to exist and he wasn’t broken either. He had the right to be happy- to thrive. But it was hard to remember such a thing when you were staring it right in the face as it glared with its way too many eyeballs back. 

Richie clicked into the replies of the replies, whether it was out of sheer desire to feel the pain and disgust, or out of morbid curiosity to see how far the rabbit hole of hate went, he didn’t know, and even if he did, he was far from likely to admit which one. He felt like he should be crying. But all he could feel was that disgust he desperately wanted to shed.

With the reply chain to those comments ending, he went back to the main thread and continued down. His eyebrows furrowed as he focused on the comments of an opposite tone that were beginning to pepper the comments section as he was wading numbly through the homophobic rhetorics and the other random meaningless replies. They were messages of support and congratulations, ones that showed acceptance of Richie as his true self and their numbers just kept growing. 

A hard lump caught in his throat. The continuing replies of support were becoming almost overwhelming. His eyes shined, wet with budding tears that inched out from the creased corners of his eyes that were pushed up by the tight smile that was spread across his face. It was almost unreal. There had been times where Rich had seen other gay people- or LGBT+ people in general- who were open and proud of who they were and with that, garnering massive support from others, and he remembered each and every time, wishing that could be him. Richie had wished he could be brave enough to come out and be confident in _himself_ and not worry about creating some comedic persona to cover up parts of his identity, and in turn, be supported by people while doing so. There had been moments, in some of his darkest times, where he had reasoned with himself that he was undeserving of such a thing, but this moment, _this moment_ _right here_ , was proof enough that that was untrue. 

Happy tears- happy _fucking_ tears- rolled down his cheeks as he continued beaming at his phone with relief. It felt like the weight of the whole damn world had been lifted off of his chest. He could have screamed it from the rooftop and wouldn’t have cared who heard it. He was gay and he was proud! And nobody could fucking take that away from him. Not some demon clown, not some asshole with a knife and a mullet, and not some random shitty people on the internet. Sure, they could make him feel bad, and he’d need to work on not letting the hateful actions and words get to him on an identity level, but he was done wallowing in it and allowing it to reinforce his internalized homophobia every time he encountered it.

The joy that seemed to permeate his whole body felt almost impossible to keep contained, that plus his long-term self realization finally coming to fruition drove him with a need to tell someone, anyone who’d listen really, but first was his friends. 

He scrambled to the call interface and dialed Eddie, cradling his phone with both his hands up to his ear. Richie felt like when he was a kid, calling Eddie the minute he could with barely contained excitement over something new.

The message tone sounded. Beep (Beep). He tried to wipe away some of the tear streaks left on his face with the back of hand.

“Eddie! Eddie! Holy shit, man, guess what-” 

* * *

Date: 5:43 pm, December 9th, 2016

The weather outside was particularly crisp that afternoon in Atlanta, Georgia. There was a light crust of snow on the ground that reflected the few rays of fading sunlight that escaped from the cloud cover. 

It was cold, but inside the Uris’ house, it was pretty cozy.

Richie sat by the fireplace with a cup of non-alcoholic eggnog (he was trying to cut down on the booze) in his hands. Mike periodically came over to tend to fire from his place on the recliner, making sure it kept its height. Ben and Beverly were cuddling together on the couch, mugs full of their own choice drinks in hand as well. Rich was pretty sure they were together at this point, considering Beverly’s divorce had finally gone through. It had been a hellish event for her to have to endure with the backlash from Tom that came with it. For the entirety of the process she was terrified of what he might do, even going to the extent of keeping her location on the down-low as well as having Richie serve him the papers instead- something he was happy to do if it even so much as inconvenienced the prick’s day. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have to fight the urge to piss on Tom’s front door or some gross shit like that when he dropped them off. What mattered most was that Beverly was happy and safe now- which with how peaceful and content she looked as she was snuggled up to Ben’s side on the couch, Richie concluded that had been achieved.

The kind but mildly exasperated tone of Patty’s muffled voice as she told Bill what to do in the kitchen could be heard from where they all sat. Richie and Mike exchanged an amused look and giggled to themselves. There was comfort in the fact that they were all together again, but there was still the obvious feeling of something- some people- missing that hung over all of them.

It would be the first Hanukkah that Patty would be spending without Stan and she had invited the Losers over for a few days- or however long they wished to stay, really- she had claimed she needed the company and support and they were all happy to visit their good friend. 

Over the last few months they had all grown quite close to her as they learned more about Stan as an adult and checked up on her. Patty had pretty much become an honorary Loser in their minds with how much she had been through post Stan’s death- along with the fact that she demanded to know the truth behind it and the Loser’s trip to Derry. To their bafflement, she had actually believed it all, citing that it’d be unlikely that all of them would lie to her or about Eddie’s death. Richie glanced fondly over towards the rainbow scarf she had knitted him that hung with his coat on the jacket stand, a small content smile spread on his lips; he was glad to know her.

There was a lull in the activity within the house, so Richie found it the best time to excuse himself. He made his way to the hallway that led to the rooms and guest bathroom, stopping at the furthest end and pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialing Eddie’s number. 

The calls really had become a ritual at this point, but it was one that he found comfort and solace in and that’s all he could really ask for.

Beep (Beep).

“Happy holidays, Eds.” The look on his face was one of bittersweet contentment as he leaned his cheek into the phone screen. “I’m at the Uris’ house right now and it’s exactly as you think the place would look. Stan’s style hasn’t changed a bit,” he gave a breathy chuckle as he looked at a particular framed photo in front of him. “ _Song wren”_ it read in the border around the picture of a red-throated bird perched upon a bare branch. _Always the bird enthusiast_ , he thought.

“We’re all here visiting Patty for Hanukkah since it’ll be her first time on her own without Stan and she needs the support. I can’t even imagine how rough this all is for her,” he paused to run a hand through his hair- which had been neatly styled (for his standards) for the occasion- as he thought to himself. “Especially since she had such little explanation for his death for a while, until she sort of forced the truth out of us. She actually believed it, surprisingly enough.” Richie shifted his weight around as he stood in the hallway. “It’s weird though. Being in Stan’s house-” he hesitated before saying it, almost like he was scared Patty would hear him. “-after he died. Like, we didn’t know him as an adult so there’s just a ghost of a memory of someone I think I know when I walk around here, and yet, I feel like I’ve known him for years at the same time. I try to not think about it too much honestly, it just makes me sad and existential.”

Shaking his head quickly, Richie shifted his tone, trying to keep the “conversation” light. “In better news though, Bev finally got a divorce and was able to leave that asshole. She had me serve the papers and I really _really_ wanted to do something to the property to aggravate him, but that’d probably look bad for both Beverly and I. Speaking of reputation though, I’ve still been getting a lot of good reception from coming out publicly- a lot more than I expected actually.” 

It had been not quite a month yet since he said “fuck it” and came out on Twitter, and despite his greatest fears, he was met with a far more positive response than he could have expected. Of course, he had hemorrhaged followers and fans upon tweeting, given the nature of the cis-het male centered comedy he performed, but he had gained far more new support. 

“I’m still shocked as hell to be honest, but I am so happy it turned out alright.” The pricks of tears that came with that swell of triumphant happiness came to his eyes once again- it seemed to happen every time he thought back to it. Clearing his throat suddenly, Richie kept moving forward with the list of updates, trying to not become hung up on a topic. “Mikey and Bill are making pretty good headway on the book they’re trying to write together. I think it’s sort of a collection of the stories and history about Derry that Mike collected throughout the time he spent waiting for It to come back. Bill’s just acting as the lead writer while Mike guides the process and provides the info. Also…” he grumbled the next part, not particularly enthused about the idea, “Mike’s trying to push me to go to therapy.” Richie always became despondent when the topic of therapy came up. He’d tried therapy before (“tried” being an interesting word for going a few times as a kid after fighting It due to the adamant requests of his worried and confused parents and once when he was an adult where upon the therapist trying to poke at some of his deep seated issues he immediately decided to never return) and hated it. “I really don’t want to fucking do it. I hate when random strangers try to root around in my brain and figure out what’s goin’ on with Richie Tozier, and I _really_ hate when I’m the one paying them to do it. But I might try it once or twice because Mike keeps insisting on it- just to get him off my back.” He huffed, sounding like a moody teenager whose parents “just didn’t understand him”. “But I doubt it’s gonna help me.”

His fingers scratched at his shaved face, the stubble already starting to return, as he watched the flickering roof lights through the window of one of the guest rooms. That Eddie shaped emptiness that hung over him was increasingly noticeable now as he continued watching the lights. Richie imagined what it’d be like if Eddie could have stood next to him as they watched the lights in the silence of the dark room, watching the weather grow colder outside as they stayed warm inside, leaning on one another. His chest ached with yearning to have that moment with him. There was gravel in his voice as he talked, “I really wish you could be here right now.” 

As he stood there deep in his thoughts, almost a deer in headlights, Bill came down the hallway with not all that quiet of footsteps. He found Richie, still staring at the lights, his eyes obviously glossy from the start of tears. He inched closer, a concerned look in his eyes, and placed his hand gently on Richie’s upper back, rubbing it slightly to get his attention. Richie blinked quickly in an attempt to rid himself of the welling tears, then looked quickly to Bill and then his phone. 

“Uh, I’m gonna have to go. Love you…” He hung up the phone and slipped it back into his pocket, looking to Bill once he had done so.

“You alight, Rich?” Bill’s voice matched the same gentle concern that was on his face.

He didn’t really know if he was or not.

“Just… it’s just... I’m having a bit of a hard time, you know? I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, just remember if you need anything-”

“Thanks, Bill.” And he really meant it. His friends, especially Bill with how long he had known Eddie as kids, would likely come the closest to knowing how he felt, but at the same time, he felt they couldn’t truly understand. But he appreciated it.

Bill changed his hand position to guide Richie back towards the living room. “I was coming to tell you that dinner’s ready- if you feel up to it, that is.” 

Rich let out a confirmatory noise that said he was willing to try. 

“Oh, and Richie?”

“What’s up?”

“Could I ask you something sort of… important, maybe a bit later, when everyone has gone where they’re sleeping for the night?”

“Uh-” He couldn’t lie, those kinds of open-ended questions always spiked his anxiety immensely, but it was Bill. It couldn’t be too bad, right? “I mean, that’s one way to fucking scare me man, but sure. Whatever you what.”

“Thanks, Rich.” 

* * *

Date: 12:59 am, December 10th, 2016

  
  


Beep (Beep).

“So, Bill just asked me how I knew I liked guys.” 


End file.
